


The Only Winning Move

by Littlebiscuits



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dreams, M/M, non-cult AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-07-05 19:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlebiscuits/pseuds/Littlebiscuits
Summary: In which Joseph and his brothers start a cult with the girl from the drugstore, and Nancy is not to be trusted in any universe.





	The Only Winning Move

_"We will march to Eden's Gate -"_

Rook wakes up still trying to jerk away from Joseph's glittering, righteous madness, finds himself halfway to falling out of the bed, sheets tangled awkwardly around him. 

"Fuck." His heart's still pounding, because that had gone on way longer than any dream ever should, and the ending had felt far too real, crashing the car, getting carried into a bunker, Dutch's dead body. Rook still feels like he lived through it. He's cold and unsettled, the press of nuclear explosions still far too close, and Jacob's crazy song still half playing in his head.

The other side of the bed moves, and there's a warm hand on his back, where Rook feels chilled and wrung out. 

"What is it?"

"I was having a nightmare," Rook says. "A really fucking convincing one." His voice comes out hoarse, like he'd been shouting in his sleep. He pushes himself upright, head tipped back against the wall, because he doesn't particularly want to slip back into that. Now the warmth of the room is easing into him it's starting to feel a little less real.

Joseph leans over far enough to turn on the light, squinting at him from the other side of the bed. His hair is mostly on one side, until he pulls his hand through it.

God, it's three in the morning. 

"You started a cult," Rook tells him.

"I started a cult?" Joseph blinks, then reaches out, finds his glasses and slips them on. Before moving over and settling himself back against the headboard next to him, eases the pillows up to rest against, as if he knows that Rook needs to talk about this. 

Boomer seems to think this means he gets to have breakfast early and tramples up the bed, jostles under Joseph's arm to poke at his chin. Joseph loops an arm round him, tries to make him stop.

"No, Boomer, off the bed."

Boomer ignores him, because Joseph is too soft with him by far, and never sounds like he means it 

Rook reaches out far enough to pat him on the hip.

"Boomer, down," Rook tells him.

Boomer gives a huff of disappointment and jumps down, making a dejected noise from the end of the bed, before slinking out of the room.

"I started a cult?" Joseph offers again, expression dubious.

"A cult," Rook agrees. "Called Eden's Gate, with John, and Jacob, and that girl from the drugstore, Rachel. Only John was a psychotic asshole who carved sins into people's skin, and then cut them off because that was what your creepy religion demanded, or something. And Jacob kept people in dog cages, and brainwashed them into serving him, while droning on about culling the weak from the herd and only the strong being worthy. He caught me and did a number on me, sent me out and made me kill Eli."

Joseph's frowning behind his glasses.

"Well that definitely sounds like a nightmare," he says quietly. He draws a leg up so he can shift a little closer, a press of warmth along Rook's arm.

"And I swear this is not some sort of subconscious display of my feelings towards them, or the fact that you're all way more religious than me. I like your brothers, and I don't secretly think they're murderous lunatics or anything. I mean it wasn't just them, the entire county was fucked up. You had like half of them in this army that liked to nail people up all over the place, all judgement and fury, with the word 'sinner' carved into them. You even had posters of me made with that plastered all over them too."

Joseph's looking at him like he doesn't even know what to say to that.

"You made John buy up all the property and you were taking all the food, and there were bodies everywhere - though for some reason there were no kids in my dream. I don't know what that was about." 

Maybe Rook just hadn't wanted to see any of them in the middle of the fucking road, crushed under Eden's Gate trucks.

"You kept trying to get me to join your inner circle, you were all shirtless, and threatening and utterly mad, but like creepily convincing anyway, religious conviction dialled up to fucking eleven. And you wouldn't stop touching me."

Joseph makes a noise where he's leaning into Rook's shoulder, skin warming his own. Because Rook doesn't normally complain about Joseph's need to get his hands on him.

"And did you?" Joseph asks curiously. "Join my weird and obviously deranged cult."

"No, and if anything the dream just got weirder and more fucked up from there. Because I killed your brothers, and Rachel from the drugstore, and destroyed their massive underground bunkers. Because they had underground bunkers built to wait out some collapse of civilisation that God had apparently told you about."

"God told me about the end of the world?" Joseph raises an eyebrow at that, the edge of his mouth tilted up. "Well, then no wonder I started a cult."

"Yeah, you say that like it's funny, but you should have been there."

Rook rubs his eyes, because the bulk of the dream is starting to blur a little at the edges. Pieces of it not quite as coherent in his head.

"Anyway, it turned out you were right, and so there was a nuclear war out of nowhere. Then me, and the Sheriff, and the deputies - who were all there too, except Pete who for some reason I didn't think was important enough to dream about - we've caught you and we're trying to get somewhere." Rook can't remember where at this point. The county had felt weirdly small in his dream, barely a few miles from one side to the other. "Only the car crashes and they all die - I think they die, they're not moving and there's blood everywhere - but you picked up my unconscious body and carried me into Dutch's secret bunker."

Because of course Dutch had a secret bunker in the woods.

"Well at least I saved you from an apocalypse," Joseph offers, as if he thinks that's a good thing.

"Yeah, I wake up handcuffed to the bed, and I'm pretty sure the insinuation was you were going to make me your new, creepy family, with or without my permission."

"Ok, less comforting," Joseph allows.

"I mean under normal circumstances I wouldn't object to you handcuffing me to the bed, and doing whatever you want with me, but this one came with biblical prophecies and madness so y'know, not quite as sexy."

Joseph's watching him with that distracting half-smile he has. The one that always makes Rook want to kiss him. He leans over and does exactly that, until he gets confused about what he was saying. Which Joseph tends to do to him a lot.

"I don't know what I have against Rachel from the drugstore though." He barely knows her, just well enough to nod in passing.

"Jessop," Joseph says throatily, still watching Rook's mouth. "Her name's Rachel Jessop."

"She was in charge of guarding the giant statue of you," Rook adds. "That you had erected where that old tower used to be. Also, she could fly, and made hallucinogenic drugs out of plants that turned people into mindless zombie-slaves."

"There was a giant statue of me?" Joseph seems to find that piece of information worth going back to. Which isn't surprising, because of all the people Rook knows he's pretty sure that Joseph would be the one least likely to want a giant statue of himself. Towering ridiculously over the entire county.

"It was ridiculous," Rook says. "I blew it up with a rocket launcher, and you were so fucking mad."

Joseph's laugh is surprised out of him, and Rook kind of loves how entertained he sounds.

"Well you did destroy my giant statue, what did you expect. Those things are probably expensive." 

"It was like eighty feet high," Rook tells him, because he remembers flying around the damn thing in a helicopter. How he hadn't realised it was a dream at that point he has no idea. It really was ridiculous. "Jesus, you did like your dramatic statements." 

Joseph makes an agreeable noise, because that is definitely a statement.

"Also, Nancy, for some reason, was a dirty traitor for Eden's Gate. When our helicopter crashed - did I mention the helicopter crashed when we came to arrest you for gouging out a man's eyes? - she totally fucked us over, while your Chosen were dragging people off into the woods." 

Joseph's expression seems to be trying to process every part of that sentence, before settling on having an opinion about the first.

"That is actually surprising, since Nancy's not really that fond of me. I can't imagine recruiting her for nefarious cult activities."

Rook has to laugh and drag fingers through Joseph's hair, because he can make the dumbest shit sound perfectly reasonable.

"I don't know why she has a problem with you," Rook says with a frown. "Because I can't remember you ever offending anyone, everyone loves you."

"She thinks I'm too old for you," Joseph says simply. Though there's a quiet sort of tightness to the words, that suggests the insinuation bothers him more than he wants to admit. If someone has said something then Rook wants to know about it, because for all that he likes to give off a serene sort of acceptance, Joseph is surprisingly easy to hurt. "Which is why she keeps trying to set you up with her cousin."

That would explain why the woman keeps finding ways to get Robin into the conversation. Though all Rook knows about him at this point is that he owns a bookstore, and likes fishing. They seem to be his two noteworthy qualities, or possibly his only qualities. Come to think of it, the hints haven't really been that subtle. He feels like kind of an idiot looking back on it.

He slides a leg under Joseph's and threads their fingers together.

"Oh, and I had to climb up inside the ruins of your blown-up statue, using my impossibly amazing grappling hook skills, while your followers shot at me from pretty much everywhere. To get to the holy book you'd written for your insane cult, so I could burn it."

Joseph takes a moment to absorb the fact that he'd had his own bible, eventually he sighs.

"Is this because I asked if you wanted to come to church with me?" he asks quietly. 

Rook opens his mouth, closes it.

"I may have been idly thinking about it," he admits at last. "But not in a way that should have thrown up dreams about you leading a violent cult in the reaping of our entire county." He's more been wondering what he's supposed to do for an hour sitting still in a church, while Pastor Jerome talks about God. Or whether Joseph was going to get in trouble for bringing a non-believer. "Though I suppose as a general theme that was on my mind, it maybe have...contributed."

Joseph looks like he's wondering whether to blame himself for that.

"So, was anything the same?" Joseph sounds curious but not hopeful.

Rook thinks about it for a minute. He thinks about Joseph's violently abusive father, and John's problem with addiction, Jacob slowly working through PTSD, all the messy, broken parts of people that they tried so hard to heal, to paint over, to pretend they have a handle on.

"Boomer was still a good dog," Rook decides at last.

"Ah, then all was right with the world," Joseph says with a laugh.

Rook carefully draws Joseph's glasses off, folds them and leans over to settle them on the nightstand. When he sways back, Joseph's smiling at him, like he's not subtle at all. Rook kisses him until the other man draws him in, one hand lifting to rest against the back of his neck.

"It's three in the morning," Joseph says quietly, though Rook notices that he's not actually objecting.

"It's not the first time we've had sex at three in the morning," Rook reminds him. He pulls until Joseph slides down the bed, pillows tumbling away and hitting the floor. Then he encourages Joseph's legs to open around him, to slide up the sides of his chest when he moves down. "There's no bad time in the entire day to think about touching you."

Joseph hums amusement at the ridiculous flattery.

"Should I try and seduce you into my cult?" His voice has gone quietly breathless. Soft in a way that Rook can feel under the skin.

He laughs against the bend of Joseph's hip, digs his teeth gently into the skin, until Joseph's exhale catches in his throat.

"Maybe next time," Rook tells him.

He presses at the softness of Joseph's thighs, watches them fall open easily for him, leaving him beautifully exposed. It makes it easy to curl a hand round the half hard line of his cock, lean in and open around him, all flat drag of tongue and slick palate driving over and down. Rook likes the way that makes Joseph shudder and press up, push warmth into Rook's mouth, one hand dropping to settle on his head, fingers threading and then relaxing in his hair. Joseph should be greedy more often, should demand things from Rook, because he's more than willing to give them. Rook thinks he'll try and convince Joseph some time to tighten his fingers and be selfish.

He feels the long stretch of Joseph's body, the clatter of a drawer opening, and something gets tossed down the bed, plastic cool against Rook's elbow. Which is an unsubtle hint for exactly what Joseph wants. 

Rook pulls the bottle close, opens it without looking, and moves himself to a kneel in the sheets.

Joseph's thighs tense when Rook pushes a finger into him, he matches the slow sink of his mouth to it, and hears the choked, breathless murmur of impatience. But Rook's not willing to do as he's told quite yet. Joseph is warm inside, pulled tight around him, and Rook can't help but slip back to watch. Joseph moans disappointment at the bite of cold air on his cock, but he still tips a leg up and shifts it outwards, so Rook can indulge himself. Rook clicks the bottle open again and makes a mess on the sheet, adds another finger, stretches and pushes Joseph open, until his thigh is trembling and he drops a hand to cup himself.

"Stop teasing." Joseph's voice is staggered and breathless.

He's barely ready for three, but Rook does as he's told, turns his hand, so he can slide his thumb where Joseph is pulled slick and tight.

Joseph murmurs his name, foot pressing into Rook's waist, trying to pull him up and in. He's fucking impossible. Anything else and Joseph has the patience of a saint, but this, he can never wait for this.

Rook's shifting up between his thighs, hand sliding on himself until the solid line of his cock is slick-wet. Then he's holding Joseph open, pressing in, pushing in. Joseph gives a long, drawn-out curse, softly aching, and Rook pulls his thigh up, digs his fingers in. Until he's sinking all the way, body hot with it, moaning out a sigh until his pelvis meets the hot press of Joseph's skin, sprawled underneath him, one arm thrown over his head, hand curled over the board, one on the bend of Rook's waist.

Joseph's eyes are dark, half-shut, hair spread around him like Rook has pinned him there, and Rook tries to hold on to the low ache of his cock, that's all needy, desperate urge to push, to drag and slide, to bury himself over and over. He's failing, he's failing so fucking hard.

"God, Joseph."

He's moving, but Joseph doesn't protest, exhale bursting out shaken and eager. A murmur of encouragement, the bite of fingers, and Joseph just gives around him.

Rook curls in, leans down, because he's tall enough to kiss him like this, and he likes to hear every breath punch out of Joseph while he moves, while Joseph makes him move, pulling with his hand, mouth open for air. Joseph's cock is hard against his stomach, flushed dark, glistening wetly where it touches the skin. But when Rook reaches down to touch him, Joseph catches his wrist, pulls his arm away, moans something quietly desperate. 

Because Joseph's needs feel like punishment sometimes, messy and raw, demanding that Rook takes what he wants, that he make Joseph feel it. But Rook loves him and he'll give him anything, anything he fucking wants.

Joseph will refuse, until he can't, until he can't any more, hand slipping free -

Rook slides a slick hand down and grasps his cock, fingers curling tight and then moving, and Joseph spits a curse, deep and mangled, tries to move into both points of sensation. When Rook is too far gone to do much but let him, too close to do anything but feel it all.

Rook watches Joseph's head tip back, breath rushing out of him when he comes on a long groan - but Rook's already gone, there's nothing left but the sharp rush of pleasure, the easy give of Joseph's body when he pushes in fast, and hard, and tight. Sinks everything into him.

Until Joseph is still, one arm thrown over his head, twitching gently while Rook breathes a shaky moan into his throat, and strokes the long plane of his side. Joseph draws his head up, kisses him with his soft-rough, wet mouth, murmuring words that mean fucking nothing, as far as Rook can tell. Rook slips free, lets Joseph stretch his legs out with a quiet sigh.

The bottle's lost somewhere under Rook's knee, but at least he had the sense to shut it. He fishes it out and tosses it back in the vague proximity of the drawer, which makes Joseph breathe quiet laughter into his throat, mouth pressed into the skin.

Rook tips back to his side of the bed, and after a long handful of seconds, and an irritated noise that comes with a tug of sheet, Joseph curls half over him, one bony knee nudging his thigh aside for room.

"So, yes, no starting a cult with your brothers," Rook says through a yawn. "Or Rachel from the drugstore."

"Hmm," Joseph agrees.

Rook curls an arm around Joseph's waist, fingers catching at the bend.

"No one's coming to save you," Joseph murmurs sleepily.

"What?" Rook asks, and he's significantly more awake now.

But Joseph's already asleep.


End file.
